


Laying Here, Seeing Nothing

by HauntedByDayDreams



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU where Cas doesn't have his grace back, AU where they've been together for a while, Angst, BAMF Dean Winchester, Bi-Curious Dean Winchester, Castiel Loves Dean Winchester, Castiel and Dean Winchester Fight, Castiel and Dean Winchester Need to Use Their Words, Dark, Dean Winchester is Protective of Castiel, Dean drugs Cas but it's for a good reason... kind of, Dean goes darkside, Dean's love is being twisted by the Mark, Dying Castiel, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Fluff and Angst, He's also kind of a jerk, Hurt Castiel, Implied Castiel/Dean Winchester, M/M, Mark of Cain, Nearly Human Castiel, One Shot, Season/Series 10, Unresolved Emotional Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-14
Updated: 2016-08-14
Packaged: 2018-08-08 19:29:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7770184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HauntedByDayDreams/pseuds/HauntedByDayDreams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set late in season 10: Castiel's stolen grace is fading, and be it the Mark of Cain or desperation, Dean takes drastic measures to make sure he doesn't lose his angel again.</p><p>Dean has gone too far this time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Laying Here, Seeing Nothing

**Author's Note:**

> "Talk and song from tongues of lilting grace, whose sounds caress my ear  
> But not a word I heard could I relate, the story was quite clear  
> Oh, oh." -"Kashmir", Led Zeppelin
> 
> Still working out the kinks in a new writing style I'm experimenting with. Hope you enjoy!

"I feel so old, Dean."

Dean frowns down at his hands, his arms buried up to his elbows in suds and dirty dishes in the industrial-sized kitchen sink. Castiel had volunteered to clean up tonight, but of course Dean was having none of that. Especially when the guy seemed like he would pass out at any moment, listing dangerously on his feet like an unseasoned drunkard.

"You _are_ old," Dean says seriously. Castiel sighs, folding his arms on the table in front of him.

"I've never felt it before. My age is finally catching up to me, I suppose." Dean knows this is Cas's way of conceding so that he doesn't have to talk about the elephant in the room. The ever selfless, ever _Winchester-first_ angel thinks that he's being discreet but Dean sees the symptoms of his nearing mortality; fatigue, hunger, arcs of pain that render him immobile for hours. His thin, borrowed grace is burning him out from the inside. Dean knows that Castiel doesn't have much longer before he wastes away.

Dean glares at the plate he is rinsing with all the intensity of a pissed-off Winchester.That settles it. Sam is out of the bunker for the weekend, and Castiel's state is only growing worse. Better to act now than lose his chance. 

Or his nerve.

 _This is for Cas,_ he thinks as he moves away from the sink and begins to gather ingredients at the oven. _This isn't betrayal. I'm doing this_ for _him._ He mixes the cocoa powder, water, and sugar together in the saucepan over low heat. _He'll forgive me eventually._ The mark of Cain burns on his arm as he surreptitiously slips a small pill into the glass he fixes for Castiel, stirring and watching it dissolve into the brown mix.

"Cold?" Dean queries as he grabs the two steaming cups from the counter and slips into the chair opposite the angel; Castiel is trembling, his fingers curled tightly into fists. Castiel tries to stop himself, forcing himself to lay his hands flat on the table and offering a sheepish smile to Dean.

"Maybe a little," he confesses, pulling his arms into his lap to hide the more noticeable tremors. Dean decides not to press the issue, but instead uses it to his advantage as he slides the specially prepared cup across the table. 

"This will warm you up," says Dean with a forced smile. "Sorry, no marshmellows this time." He tries to stifle the twinge of guilt he feels as Castiel wraps both hands around the cup and lifts it to his lips, his expressive blue eyes lighting up with pleasure. "Hot cocoa," Dean says as Castiel murmurs his approval and happily continues to drink. Dean wants to enjoy this moment with Cas as best he can, memorise every crinkle around his eyes and the curve of his smile, but the moment is tainted with the knowledge of what he has just done. Of what he will do, and how Castiel will feel about him after.

 _I'm doing this for you, Cas,_ Dean thinks to himself, his green eyes boring into Cas's own as though impressing his thoughts on Castiel's mind. Castiel doesn't seem to notice the intensity in his gaze; Dean doubts that Cas has even enough mojo left to read thoughts, at this point.

"Thank you," Cas says with a genuine, if small, smile, pulling Dean from his reverie. Dean shuffles uneasily in his seat, smoothing out the wrinkles on his pants leg and staring down at the tendrils of vapour as they lazily drift from the brew and dissipate.

"You're welcome, Cas."

It takes a little longer for the sedative to kick in than it normally would. Dean reasons that it must be the remainder of Castiel's grace warding him against such things, but it still troubles him how quickly Castiel's eyes begin to droop and his words begin to slur. Cas, of course, is still wholly trusting in Dean and only assumes it's another bout of fatigue washing over him, completely unrelated to the warm drink he'd imbibed.

Dean helps Cas to the bedroom, sitting him on the edge of the bed and helping remove his shirt after watching him clumsily fumble with the buttons. Castiel is barely clinging to consciousness, blinking rapidly and trying to focus his thoughts, but it's a losing battle and he allows himself to be gently laid back in the bed. In the past, Cas would have protested letting Dean take care of him, would have been mortified to let him see him in this frail- _human_ \- state. Now it is just a natural extension of their relationship, helping each other wordlessly and thanklessly.

Dean crawls in the bed next to him, wrapping an arm around Castiel's shoulders as he rolls in to press his face to Dean's neck. Dean's stubble tickles Castiel's cheek, and his warm and milky breath slowly lulls him to sleep. When Cas draws his head up to the pillow besides Dean's, faces separated by a few short inches, Dean finds it difficult to look into Cas's eyes. He doesn't deserve the unadulterated, unconditional affection he sees there. He doesn't deserve to have Cas- his Cas- look at him like that. Like he's something beautiful, or good, because he's not. If he wasn't so selfish he might try to show Castiel that he deserves better; but he is, so he doesn't.

"There was a time," Castiel slurs unevenly, "when I thought abou'... about just sending you, and Sam, back to another century. T'... To live out your lives. Sometimes I still wish I'd done that." Castiel's hand finds Dean's forearm, his fingers trailing over the raised scar of the Mark of Cain. "Yes... I wish..." Castiel's eyes drift closed even as his begins to fade; the fingers curling around Dean's own go lax.

Dean waits several minutes, until he is sure that Castiel is deep asleep, before crawling out of bed.

"I'm sorry, Cas," he mumbles quietly as he retrieves a pair of Enochian-engraved handcuffs from his desk drawer. He is gentle as he attaches it to one of Castiel's wrists, as lose as he dares, and attaches the other end to the metal bed post. Cas doesn't stir, the sedative too strong, and for that Dean is thankful. 

Dean fishes Castiel's angel blade from his coat before he slips out the door.

***

The Angel Siren Sigil is easy enough for Dean to construct. 

Castiel had used the sigil himself to lure in angels to persuade them to join the rebellion, and Dean used the remainder of those ingredients with Castiel's description as his guide. Dean chose a room off to the side of the warehouse's main entrance, so that he could see the angels entering before they could see him, and when he is done painting the sigil and it glows with angelic light he steps away into the shadows to wait.

Castiel's angel blade weighs heavily in his hand, and the Mark of Cain burns on his arm.

The first angel to arrive isn't alone. Dean is stepping forward to attack when the second angel enters, looking just as bewildered and cautious as the first. One inhabits an older male, maybe in his mid-thirties, and the other is a young blonde with a bold jawline. Dean's fingers twitch on the grip of the blade as he waits for the best moment to attack.

When he's pocketed two vials of angelic grace, he uses the fresh blood on his hands to swipe through the sigil and render it ineffective. When one more unfortunate angel stumbles through the doors as he packs up to leave, he takes his grace, too.

***

Facing Castiel after turns out to be even harder than he'd thought it would be.

In hindsight, Dean realises that maybe he should have washed off the blood before entering the room. Castiel's red-rimmed eyes, all the more prominent against his pale skin, are drawn to the splotches of crimson on creamy skin and a strangled cry escapes his throat as he yanks against the handcuffs.

"Dean, what did you do?" Castiel's voice wavers, and Dean tries to pretend not to notice the tear streak down his cheek. Dean had bound him in such a way that Cas's arm is twisted awkwardly over his opposite shoulder when he sits up. Dean itches to free him but knows he can't. Not yet.

"What I had to," Dean says, his voice solemn, and Cas makes a warped choking sound as Dean pulls the vials of grace out of his jacket pocket. The swirls of light dance inside the glass like warm breath on October morning air. "You're dying, Cas. I can't let you die. Not now. not like this." Not when there was still so much for them to say, for them to do.

"You- you killed them." Dean wants to look away from Cas's face; his expression is a cocktail of anger, hurt, and despair that makes the hunter's heart squeeze with guilt. The stricken angel's voice catches, stare fixated on the containers in Dean's hands, as he continues on. "My brothers and sisters. You just-"

"Your brothers and sisters?" Dean scoffs, and Castiel's eyes are torn up to meet his own. "Cas, you're worth three _billion_ of those feathery douchebags. It's time you stop calling them family, because you're the only one who does."

Cas hangs his head then, and Dean wrongly assumes it's because he has managed to get his point across; the real nature of it is that Castiel can't bear to look at Dean anymore. The man he loves and has thrown away everything for has been reduced to this.

He was never going to be able to stop it. He realises that now. All of those nights of whispered reassurances and shared contact between them had done nothing to stop Dean from falling under the Mark's influence. Dean had been lost from the moment he'd taken the curse from Cain.

"I won't take their grace, Dean."

Dean's eyes narrow; he slowly slips all but one of the vials into his pocket. He'd seen this coming- he knew Cas all too well, at this point- but he'd still hoped it wouldn't come to this. "Cas, you might just not have a choice." The angel looks up at him sharply, his eyes still puffy and red but his stare severe. Dean is unphased and lurches across the bed, hands reaching.

The power of the Mark of Cain surges through Dean's blood even as Castiel's fading grace fails him; the struggle is short but desperate and Castiel, knowing fully well that he in his weakened state is no match for Dean, still struggles fiercely against both Dean and his binding. Dean manages to pin the angel between his legs, ensnaring Cas's free arm between his chest and Dean's thigh in a way that barely gives Cas room enough to wriggle. Castiel tugs on his handcuffs, gazing up at Dean with wide, shattered eyes as Dean uncorks the small bottle and holds it in front of Castiel's lips.

"Take it," Dean hisses, but Castiel jerks his head away, presses his lips into a thin line like a petulant child refusing to eat his vegetables. Banking on Castiel's newly acquired need of oxygen, Dean firmly clasps a hand over his nose and shoves the lip of the vial to his mouth. Castiel's cerulean eyes widen infinitesimally and he tries to shake away Dean's hand; his skin turns a blotchy shade of red, then slowly begins to creep towards indigo. "Damn it, Cas, take it! I need you!" 

Castiel holds on only a moment longer before he gasps; the wisps of silver obediently invade his airways and Dean pushes himself backwards, out of his face. First his chest, then Castiel's entire body, glows with a pulsing white light as the grace moves through, mending and suturing together his human and angelic bodies. When the light fades, Castiel sits up, pushing Dean off of him, refusing to meet Dean's eyes. He pulls his legs over the side of the bed, facing the wall, and Dean cranes his neck to look at his expression but Cas turns away.

"How do you feel, Cas?" There is no answer. "Listen, I know you're mad now, but later you'll realise that I had to do it-"

"No, Dean, you didn't." Castiel's voice is low, stripped of all emotion that had been dripping from it only moments ago. He doesn't angry, or sad, or confused. If anything, _exhausted_ is the word that comes to Dean's mind. "And _you_ wouldn't have. Not like this. Not to innocent angels, or their vessels."

Dean is silent for a moment. "What do you want from me? An apology? Because I would do it again. I'd do whatever it took to keep you here." _Kill whoever it took_ , his mind finishes for him, but he knows better than to say that aloud.

"No, Dean." Castiel finally turns to look at him, and the heavy burden behind his eyes nearly crushes Dean under his gaze. The familiar, broken look is unmistakable. "An apology wouldn't mean anything. It's not your fault. It's the Mark. I want you..." Castiel falters and although he doesn't turn his head, his eyes flicker to the wall behind Dean. "I want you to know, when this is all over, that I don't blame you for what you've done. I know you're not really in control anymore. But this isn't you and... I don't like pretending."

"What are you saying?" Dean doesn't understand, but Castiel's words terrify him. He can't lose Cas, no, not _his_ Cas, not when he's the only thing holding him together. His voice shakes as he repeats his question.

Castiel doesn't answer; instead quietly asks, "Please unlock these handcuffs."

After that night, the right side of Dean's bed remains cold.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Comments appreciated.


End file.
